


The Grocery Store

by saltyfeathers



Series: Frivolity is the Spice of Life [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another dead witch, another truth telling curse that doesn't allow the participants to be embarrassed about what they confess. Sam and Dean get hit, and Cas gets progressively confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grocery Store

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm stuck on another fic, and decided to just write out a cute little prompt I talked out with a friend the other day- y'know, keep the writing torch burning, etc etc.
> 
> This fic, which I literally just decided could be part of a series, is basically going to be a set of unrelated tfw/deancas drabbles/short fics that I write whenever I need a respite from longer/more difficult fics. Plus, fluff is always nice to at least attempt the neutralize the angst, right?
> 
> It's probably going to be my own personal 1k1hour challenge that I've seen floating around tumblr, and also a good place to archive all the short stuff I write, so it doesn't clog up my account with a bunch of little drabbles.
> 
> If you have a prompt, shoot me an ask on tumblr at [positivewingnosmoke](http://positivewingnosmoke.tumblr.com/), because prompts are super fun and they're perfect for this kind of project.
> 
> Enjoy the fluff, friends. But remember to brush with angst afterwards so you don't get cavities <3

It was a witch, because Dean’s life sucks and it’s never _not_ a witch.

When he voiced that thought, verbatim, to Sam, Sam had just rolled his eyes and informed Dean of the double negative, to which Dean replied with a doubly flipped bird.

The witch is dead, but his stupid fucking curse remains, and Dean finds that out in the worst way possible when he says, as they’re cleaning up the kill scene, “He had a really nice ass, at least.”

Sam stops what he’s doing- putting the decapitated head in a sac- and stares at his brother, eyebrows first scrunched together, and then smoothed out in a rainbow-y arc of surprise.

“I didn’t expect you to say that,” Sam says, standing up and completely forgetting about the solitary head lying at his feet. He wipes his palms on the thighs of his jeans, leaving rusty smears, and then crosses his arms expectantly.

“I didn’t expect me to say it either,” Dean agrees, feeling his own confusion (and sudden defense of machismo) escalate alarmingly fast, “but it’s true.” Somehow, his defensiveness stays tucked far away into a little tiny corner of his brain.

Sam’s face is neutral for a moment, and then he shrugs.

“I’ll buy it,” he says, easy, “there were times, when we were teenagers, and I thought I saw you checking other guys out.” He smiles, genuine, “Good to know my detective skills were still better than your observing skills even back then.”

“Shut up, Sam,” is all Dean says, feeling weirdly unembarrassed. Theoretically, he knows he should be, since he just voluntarily came out of the closet to his brother by checking out a dead witch’s ass, but experimentally, he just feels kind of… neutral.

Neither of them have the presence of mind to say anything, and they continue to clean the scene in a companionable silence.

***

Cas shows up later, and that’s when Dean realizes he’s in trouble. They haven’t seen Cas in a couple weeks, since he’s been busy doing “angel shit”, and apparently, “angel shit” involves not being able to make a damn phone call.

As soon as Cas flits into existence at the foot of his motel bed, Dean says, “I missed you,” and it’s horrendously without sarcasm, and even more horrendously, it’s _heartfelt_.

But instead of those emotions playing across his face, his eyes remain eager and bright, thrilled to finally see Cas after another half month without a single point of contact.

To put it lightly, Cas is confused. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, wavers, and then closes it again. He squints at Dean, like he’s looking for a sign of anything amiss, but Dean just sits there, completely enamoured.

“That was a strange greeting, right?” Castiel asks, half suspiciously, half curious.

“It was the truth,” Dean answers, without further explanation, and Cas visibly flounders, obviously flummoxed once against by the strange habits of humanity.

“Usually you greet me with something much more terse, or you forgo the greeting entirely,” Cas points out. He’s still standing stock still at the end of Dean’s bed, though that’s not exactly new for him. Cas has a habit of looming like one of those creepy cardboard cutouts of celebrities people insist on having, and then break their necks after mistaking them for intruders in the middle of the night and falling down the stairs as they try to run away from the axe murderer/Robert Pattinson double.

Luckily, Dean’s a fighter, not a runner, and has gotten used to it over time. Depending on how eventful his day was before, however, he’s still not averse to having a series of small heart attacks whenever he wakes up and sees Cas, shrouded in shadow, at the foot of Dean’s bed. To be fair to the guy, he’s still technically doing his duty; watching over humanity. It’s not his fault if Dean’s particular flavor of humanity requires more watching over than other people’s. Truth be told, Dean often sleeps better knowing Cas is there (no matter how creepy it still is), if only because he knows Cas could smite any bitey thing that tries to eat him or Sam during their REM cycles without breaking a sweat.

“Only because if I say what I’m actually thinking, I’ll embarrass myself, you, Sam, and the mice living under the bed.”

Cas’ brow creases, and he cants his head, like looking at Dean at a thirty degree angle is going to give him any more insight than a straight on, eye to eye encounter.

“Dean, I- are you alright? Are you dying? Hexed? Cursed? Is someone forcing you to say these things?”

Dean shakes his head.

“I’m just telling you the truth,” he insists. “I’m telling you that I miss you when you’re not here, and that I-”

And then Sam walks in, giant pizza box in hand. Dean glares at him.

“Sam, you just interrupted me and Cas.”

Sam tosses the pizza onto his bed, and shrugs off his coat.

“Interrupted you doing what?” he asks, tossing Dean the Impala’s keys with a merry jingle. “You still have clothes on, so obviously not that.”

In a surprising grasp of a lewd joke (that wasn’t really a joke, because Sam was telling the truth), Cas’ eyebrows raise just a couple degrees north.

“We were not going to have sex, Sam,” Cas says, confusion evident in his voice. “Why would you come to that conclusion?”

Sam digs into the pizza, grabs a big slice, and says, casually, “Because Dean likes guys, and Dean likes you, and I just kind of figured it was gonna happen,” He takes a bite, fights with some rogue cheese for a moment, and manages to wrestle it all into his mouth in one giant, goopy bite.

It’s not windy out today, but Cas looks like he just walked through a veritable gale.

“Is this a joke?” Castiel asks, looking between the two of them, “Because you both know I still have trouble grasping the more subtle nuances of human senses of humor.” The corner of his mouth twitches unhappily, “Though I suppose this isn’t exactly subtle,” he adds, his theory obviously crumbling before it’s really come together. “You two often lack the patience or emotionally stability for subterfuge.”

“No,” Dean and Sam say at the same time, and Dean reaches for a piece of pizza as well. He grabs the box off the bed and thrusts it towards Cas. “Want a piece?”

Cas sits down in the desk chair, and threads his fingers together, resting them in his lap. He shakes his head, and Dean shrugs, unperturbed, and bites into his own piece.

They all sit in silence for a moment, until Sam breaks it after loudly swallowing the last bit of his pizza.

“I dunno if it was because I never really looked for it, or because I assumed Cas wasn’t interested in anyone, let alone _you_ , Dean, or because I just find the idea of my brother and _anybody_ doing anything naked together kind of repulsive, but I never really realized that like, you two are really really _good_ for each other, y’know?”

Dean takes a moment to let Sam’s words soak in, and nods, evidently in agreement.

“Yeah,” he says, and grins at Cas. “It’s been sitting at the back of my mind for years, dude. And it’s quiet, but always there. I can do shitty things, I can hate myself and hate everyone else and have daddy issues up the wazoo, but you’re always there, Cas. It’s really fucking cool.”

The suspicion ramping up several notches and then a couple more, and Cas knows he needs to figure out what’s wrong and correct it immediately, but he can’t leave what Dean just said alone.

“Dean, I’m hardly ever around,” Cas points out, quite reasonably, he thinks.

“You’re around when it counts,” Dean says back, just as reasonably, Dean thinks.

“You pulled him from hell,” Sam chimes in, obviously in the mood to play matchmaker as well.

Cas shakes his head.

“It was pure luck I was the one who got to your brother,” Castiel directs at Sam, “It could have been any other angel on that mission. Besides,” he adds, somewhat bitterly, “I didn’t come of my own volition. We were ordered into the pit.” He looks accusingly at both brothers, “You both know that.”

Sam and Dean look at each other, and then snort in tandem.

“Yeah, dude,” Dean says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Of course we know that.”

“If someone meets their future spouse in a grocery store, they don’t thank the manager of the grocery store,” Sam points out, “But when they tell the story of how they met twenty years in the future, they’ll still always say that they met at the grocery store.” 

Cas doesn’t get it.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says.

“Ugh,” Dean rolls his eyes, “It doesn’t matter that we met in hell. It doesn’t matter that you were ordered to save me. All that matters is that we _met_. Everything after that? That was all you, man.”

“That sounds… unconventional,” Cas admits.

“Eh,” Sam says, “So are most relationships.”

“Maybe not quite ‘met-in-hell’ unconventional,” Dean corrects, “But everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

“What happened to you two?” Castiel asks instead of commenting on Dean’s statement. Discussing the nature of his and Dean’s relationship is probably meant for a time when both parties are at full capacity, and judging by what’s been coming out of Dean’s mouth, he’s not exactly in working condition at the moment.

“Nothing,” Sam says, eyeing the pizza box again, “We’re just telling you the truth, Cas.”

The repeated phrase dings a bell somewhere in the back of Cas’ head.

“What did you do today?” Cas asks carefully, already putting it together. He remembers, a couple years ago, when Sam and Dean dealt with a similar foe; the truth.

“Ganked a witch,” Dean relays, “with a really nice ass.” Sam nods along for the first half of that statement.

Obviously, the witch had been taking a leaf out of Veritas’ book.

“You’ve had a truth telling curse placed on you,” Cas informs Sam and Dean, who fail to look the appropriate amount of horrified. Apparently, there was also something of an emotional sedative in this particular string of the curse. Truth without the self-doubt often associated with speaking one’s mind. Dangerous.

It’s not particularly hard to lift the curse, once Cas figures out what it is. A quick rush around the globe for ingredients, a splash of blood, and Sam and Dean are blinking dumbly in the aftermath.

“Fuck,” Dean announces, clutching his head, “I feel like I just got run over by a truck.”

Sam groans in empathy.

Somewhat unimpressed by twin headaches, Castiel feels a nervousness start trickling up his spine.

“I’m not particularly familiar with this string of the curse,” he explains, “do you two remember what you said?”

They both shake their heads, and then Dean visibly stiffens.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says, looking with wide eyes at Sam and Cas, “Did I say anything about someone named Rhonda Hurley?”

Cas shakes his head, and Dean relaxes, letting out a breath and a soft, “ _thank fuck_.”

“So you don’t remember anything?” Cas asks, double checking.

Again, they both shake their heads.

“Why?” Sam asks, staring at Cas speculatively. “Did either of us say anything that you didn’t already know? You’re an angel, man. You know everything.”

Cas swallows hard.

“No, Sam. No new revelations or gained insights,” he assures him, though there must be something in his voice, because Dean sends him a private, questioning look. To be honest, he’s not sure if he already knew what was discussed, or if it’s completely new information to him.

“Well,” Dean says, maybe a little loudly, “Whatever. I’m starving,” he ignores the pizza box on the bed entirely, “Let’s go to the grocery store.”

Sam does a double take.

“The grocery store?” He asks, incredulous, “Dean, we hardly ever go to the grocery store.”

Dean shrugs.

“I want to go. I feel like-” he stops, like the words that were about to come out of his mouth weren’t the words he was expecting. “Whatever. Sam, you can get your friggin’ salad fresh off the lettuce head this way, anyways.” He digs in his pocket for his keys, and slips the ring over his finger, pointing it at Cas.

“Cas, dude, you coming?”

Cas hesitates for a moment, wonders if it would be considered cheating. But then he realizes it’s not about the _how_ , anyways. It’s about the _after_.

“Yes,” Cas answers, and the tiniest of smiles tugs at the corners of Dean’s mouth, “I think the grocery store is a good idea.”


End file.
